Paper Birds
by Stapling Pages
Summary: There is more than one type of bravery. Ambitions can be realized in a number of ways. Knowledge has no master. And no one said that the just were nice. It is time to wake up and realize you are in a poisoner's garden. But don't worry, we have antidotes too. / AU, Hufflepuff!Harry
1. Still in Kansas

Author's Notes: I usually get pretty annoyed with AU!sorting fics because Harry nearly always goes to Slytherin, usually with very little reasoning. I get it's an AU and the Sorting Hat said "blah blah" and all, but I don't buy it. Not really. So, I've decided to write my own. Um, yay I guess.

Anyway, enjoy.

**Paper Birds**

**Chapter One: Still in Kansas**

When Harry returned to his relatives' house from his shopping trip with Hagrid, he wasn't sure what to expect. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had made it very clear what they thought about him and his magic. What Hagrid had done to Dudley probably wouldn't help their mood any either. He loitered on the front step, shifting from foot to foot and double-checking that he had everything a fourth time. The snowy owl Hagrid had bought him clicked her beak, giving Harry a bland, unimpressed stare. Harry smiled weakly. He was being ridiculous, wasn't he? After the scare they'd gotten, the Dursleys wouldn't try anything. Not when they had no way of knowing when or if Hagrid would show up again. Harry was being stupid.

Nodding sharply, he opened the front door widely. The television in the living room was silence. That was a bit strange since it was around the time the evening news was on, and Uncle Vernon hated missing the news. Why, Harry wasn't sure, since he spent most of the program calling the reporters idiots and complaining about politics instead of paying attention. Harry put the odd occurrence out of his mind and turned to drag in his trunk.

The kitchen door creaked open just as Harry gave a final hard tug. The trunk cleared the doorstep with surprising ease; the boy stumbled backwards, tripping over the ragged ends of his jeans. His elbow tagged the stairwell banister on the way down. Harry landed on his rear, embarrassed and slightly pained.

He was quite unprepared from his uncle's arrival. Thick, meaty fingers twisted themselves into his hair and wrenched upward. He yelped in surprise, and scrambled to follow the insistent tugging.

"Boy," his uncle growled, shaking the fist buried in Harry's hair. "Of all the things – after all we've done for you… I will not stand for it!" Uncle Vernon gave another violent shake. "I won't have you mocking this family's good name with your freakishness." He pulled roughly, almost dragging Harry up the stairs and to the second bedroom. Harry's eyes widen at the sight of four locks. The door was yanked open and Harry was thrown inside. With a final sneer, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut.

Harry could hear him storming down the stairs, snarling angrily. He winched as the snowy owl began barking and his uncle nearly howled "Shut up, you ruddy bird!" The floor trembled slightly as the man came back upstairs. Harry rushed to his feet when his door open and was barely able to catch the owl's cage after Uncle Vernon threw it in. The door was slammed again, this time Harry heard the clicking of four locks.

He swallowed loudly. This was going to be a problem.

The three weeks that follow were both worse and better than he expected. Harry was given double the usual amount of chores coupled with the same meager portions of food. However, he was allowed to bring the still nameless snowy owl small bowls of water and stale grain cereal. He also learned from his aunt's dark mutterings that they hadn't tossed out or destroyed his school supplies, if only because they were afraid of the neighbors finding out. All the same it felt torturous to know he could be learning about his new world, about _magic_, if only he had his books.

The books were right there in his old cupboard, and the lock was ancient and worn enough that it wouldn't be hard to force it open. Harry knelt in front of door, hardwood cleaner and soft cloth in hand, staring. Aunt Petunia was upstairs nursing a migraine and Dudley was over at Piers Polkiss's house; Uncle Vernon wouldn't be back from work for hours yet. If he was going to do it, now was the time.

Swallowing nervously, Harry set aside his cleaning supplies and moved to the metal cover of the main air vent, unscrewing it until he could open it enough to reach in and put out the screwdriver he'd hidden there years ago. It was a safe spot since Uncle Vernon had started making Harry change the filter after he'd turned nine. Once the cover was back in place, he scuttled back to the cupboard and began diligently manhandling the lock. It took several long terrifying minutes for him to get the lock undone. Harry took a deep steadying breath then opened the door.

It was a tight fit. Hunched over as he was, Harry barely had enough room to open his trunk and dig around for a textbook. He settled on the first one he grabbed – _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ – and quickly vacated the cupboard, only just remembering to redo the lock. The screwdriver was returned to its hiding place.

Heart pounding, Harry rushed up the stairs. He hugged the book tightly to his chest, nails digging into the cover. He just needed to get to his bedroom now. There was a loose floorboard beside the bed Harry was sure his relatives didn't know about where he could hide the textbook. At the top of the stairs, Harry paused and glanced at his aunt and uncle's room. The door was cracked open but his aunt was nowhere in sight. He began hurrying to his room.

"What, exactly, do you think you're doing?"

Harry cringed. His aunt pulled her door open wider. Her face was pale with fury and he knew right away that lying would only make things worse.

"Um, I – I was," he started to say, but trailed off when her mouth curled into a sneer.

"Give me the book," she said. Wordlessly, Harry handed it to her. Aunt Petunia held it away from her as those it was diseased. "Into your room with you, boy. Don't expect any dinner."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." He followed her order and tried not to flinch when he heard the locks being done up. Harry looked hopelessly around the room; he was already dreading what would happen when Uncle Vernon came home.

It had been nine days since his punishment had started.

Each morning his aunt woke him up with a vicious tirade. After several minutes he would be allowed to go to the bathroom before being returned to his room with his daily meal: two slices of plain bread and a bottle of water. He ate one slice as soon as he got it and tore the other into small bits for the snowy owl. To distract himself, Harry tried to come up with a name for the bird. He was leaning towards Hera or Frost but couldn't decide and the owl seemed indifferent to the matter.

He had not dared to send the owl for Hagrid, terrified of what Uncle Vernon would do to her. He also didn't think there would be much the giant man could do. As much as he hated to admit it, the Dursleys were in the right. Harry had knowingly broken the rules. That's all there was to it.

The morning of the 31st was cold and dreary. Harry rolled onto his side, facing the window, and tried to muster up the will to get out of bed. He couldn't quite manage it. Rolling onto his back, he sighed heavily. His limbs felt like lead and his stomach had long since fallen quiet; he didn't think that was a good thing. The owl barked softly at him. Harry mumbled something that was less words and more vague noises in reply.

When his aunt banged on the door an hour later, Harry barely jumped. He let his head lull to the side as she slammed open the door and blinked slowly at her sneer. With an air of supreme distaste, Aunt Petunia entered the room and shoved a small granola bar at him.

"Eat it," she demanded. Harry did as he was told. The bar was dry, tasteless, and made his throat hurt when he swallowed. When he finished, she sneered and ordered him to get up. "You will shower and then come down to the kitchen. No dawdling." He pushed himself to his feet and nodded slowly. "Hurry up; you have twenty minutes."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

Harry followed her out of the room, swaying as his vision went pale then dark then pale again. He felt light-headed and shaky. By the time he reached the bathroom, he had broken into a sweat that left him feeling simultaneously too hot and too cold. His breath came in slow but harsh pants. He wanted to lie back down and not get up for a long while. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option.

He showered with moderately warm water and leaned heavily against the wall. There were several times when he almost lost his footing and slipped. When he was finished Harry felt somewhat better, but his hands still shook as he dried off and dressed. He kept a tight grip on the handrail on his way down stairs, making sure to take his time on the steps. The last thing he needed was to slip and crack his head open the day before he went off to Hogwarts. He smiled at the thought of leaving.

Harry stepped into the kitchen and forced himself not to react to the severe expression on Aunt Petunia's face. Her mouth was pressed into a flat thin line, and the muscles of her jaw were tight as though she was grinding her teeth.

"Sit and eat," snapped Aunt Petunia, pointing to the small bowl of grain cereal and a cup of tea. He sank gratefully into a chair.

Under his aunt's watchful eyes, Harry picked up the spoon and began eating. The cereal was the same stale mix he had been allowed to feed the snowy owl before his punishment. But the milk was hot and had soaked into the cereal enough to mask some of the cardboard-like taste. The tea wasn't much better; it was weak and bitter, and left a strange metallic aftertaste. He didn't complain though, not when it had been so long since he'd had a hot meal.

Aunt Petunia poured him another cup after he had finished the first one but made no offer to let him have another bowl of food.

"Dudley and Vernon are in London today for Dudley's surgery," she paused to glare darkly at Harry, "they will be there for three days. Tomorrow morning, I'll drive you to the train station. Today, you will finish up your chores and finish packing; understood?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"Good, now hurry up."

Harry nodded. By then the shaking in his limbs had subsided and his stomach didn't feel quite as numb as before. He chewed the last spoonful of cereal then drank the cooling milk, his tea already gone. With quick efficient movements he rinsed his dishes before heading back up stairs to get his dirty clothes. Fortunately, his things were worn enough that he could get away with doing them all in one load.

There wasn't a load in the dryer, and the only things left to fold were towels which he made short work of. Fifty minutes were still on the timer for the washer. Harry shrugged and went to find Aunt Petunia, who scowled and shooed him off to the living room.

His trunk was shoved into a corner out of sight of the bay windows. Harry smiled, feeling his heart lighten at the sight of it. For a few minutes he let his hands linger on the latches, hesitating. During his punishment, Harry had almost convinced himself that it was all an elaborate dream, that the snowy owl was an imaginary friend and that he'd finally lost it, just like Dudley had always said he would. But it was real.

Shrugging off the strange mix of happiness and loneliness, Harry released the latches and pushed up the lid. Books of magic, potions ingredients, quills and parchment, and robes were jumbled together in a half-hazard manner. Sheepishly, he rubbed his neck. If he wanted to fit the rest of his clothes in, he needed to get organized. Harry emptied everything out, grouping like objects and loosely folding his uniform.

His books would go in first he decided, but he would leave out two to read that night and tomorrow morning. After a long moment, he shoved _The Standard Book of Spells_ and _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ into his schoolbag. His wand went into the special inner pocket that was covered with unbreakable charms to keep it safe. As an afterthought, Harry put his bag of wizard gold into it as well, just in case. The rest of his books were stacked along the bottom wall of the trunk to keep them from smashing things during transit.

Harry picked up the robes and quietly tip-toed to the laundry room. He wasn't sure he would have time to iron them at Hogwarts, or if Hogwarts even had irons. Maybe there was a spell. The washing machine's load was still going, so he set up the ironing board. Moving quickly, he pressed out the wrinkles and let the robe hang to cool as he moved on to the next one. After that he carefully folded them before heading back to his trunk.

He put the potions kit beside the books then stacked the inkwells and quills on top, followed by rolls of parchment. He made a quick trip upstairs to grab his clean clothes. They went in the remaining space with his robe on top of them. Harry sat back on his heels to survey his work. All that was left now was the clothes in the washer.

"Boy," yelled Aunt Petunia, "get in here!" With a sigh, Harry moved into the kitchen.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia?"

"Tidy up the flowerbeds."

"Of course, Aunt Petunia," he said.

There wasn't much work to be done outside. A few tiny weeds had sprouted up and a rose or two had withered. He was done in less than ten minutes. Even so, Harry knew his aunt wouldn't be satisfied that the job was done properly so he lingered a bit more. After one last circuit around the lawn, the boy headed back inside where his aunt gave him another chore. The cycle continued with a small break to move the laundry into the dryer, and a later break to fold and pack them.

To Harry's surprise, he was allowed to eat a thin, slightly dry sandwich of turkey and cheese for lunch and to take up a handful of cereal as well as some water for the snowy owl. He drank more of the weak tea from breakfast, and he quietly told his aunt that he was done packing.

"Put it in the boot of the car; then you're allowed to return to your room," said Aunt Petunia. Harry frowned but did as he was told. The trunk was heavy and cumbersome, and he was worried that he had done something to his back. Harry spent the rest of the day reading his two books, pausing now and then to scribble notes into an old spiral-bound notebook left over from primary school. Late in the evening, he was given a small bowl of soup and another serving of bitter tea.

He dreamed of colorful sparks, lush wild gardens, and the pleasant hum of magic.


	2. A Doorway

Author's Notes 1: Minor grammatical and typo corrections were made to chapter one; rereading isn't necessary.

**Paper Birds**

**Chapter Two: A Doorway**

The next morning, Harry woke up very early. The horizon was beginning to turn a rose-orange and the few clouds dotting the sky were colored a pale gold by the rising sun. He grinned widely, happy beyond belief that finally, _finally_ he would be leaving the Dursleys. Unable to contain himself, he did an odd little jig about the room. The snowy owl clicked her beak in amusement.

"Sorry," Harry said, grinning. "I think we can get away with you flying to Hogwarts, if you feel up to it. Oh, but we should probably think of a name for you; I haven't been very good about that, have I? So, there's Frost and Hera, um and Artemis too, I think. Or maybe–" He continued chatting away cheerfully as he ran his fingers lightly over the owl's feathers. The owl mostly ignored his ramblings but allowed the petting. It was soothing and companionable. Harry had never had someone who would listen or let him talk just because he needed to.

The sun continued rising, and at six o'clock Aunt Petunia threw open his door. Harry blinked at her from his bed, where he sat reading _Magical Herbs_. There was a surprising number of muggle plants listed in it, and he was curious to know if they could still be used for potions if the plants were grown in a non-magical environment. He would have to remember to ask. For now, he grabbed his messenger bag and Hera's – the snowy owl – cage and followed his aunt downstairs. Hera had flown off for Hogwarts awhile ago. Harry was thankful for this because Aunt Petunia looked angrier than normal.

She hurried him out the door, barely pausing to grab her purse and keys. Harry settled into the backseat. The drive to London was silent and tense, and more than once he caught Aunt Petunia glaring at him through the rearview mirror, mouth twisted as though she was gearing up to start yelling. She never did, but it still wrecked havoc on Harry's nerves.

The minute his aunt had parked the car, Harry was out and waiting at the boot of the vehicle. There was a discarded trolley nearby which he quickly commandeered. It took him a while to wriggle his trunk out of the car and onto the trolley, especially since his aunt hadn't bothered to get out of the driver's seat to help. Finally, after a few more sharp tugs, the boy finished his task. Harry pushed the trolley toward the long walkway leading into the train station.

He paused by his aunt's window, hesitating. The woman glared bitterly at him through the thin glass. Swallowing heavily, he waited. When he didn't leave or better yet, spontaneously combust under the weight of her ire she rolled down the window, an acidic barb on her tongue. Harry quickly cut her off.

"Um, I just… See you next summer?" The pleasantry came out weakly and his shoulders curled into a hunch.

"Next summer then," said Aunt Petunia in a slightly pained, disgusted tone.

Pointedly, she started the car. Instinctively understanding the implied threat, Harry rushed to continue on his way. Between his aunt and uncle, she was the most dangerous. His uncle's punishments were decided in the thrall of rage; true, they were swift and horrible, but they were also short and easier to recover from. Punishments from his aunt, on the other hand, were very deliberate. It made Harry a bit sick to think about it so he went out of his way to avoid doing so.

Instead, he focused on pushing his way through the thick crowd into King Cross Station. The crush of people subsided and Harry looked around himself with wide eyes. He had thought, given the building's size, that after the entrance there wouldn't be such a high concentration of people. He was wrong. Businessmen and women dressed in smart suits strolled purposely from platform to platform with high-tech phones pressed to their ears. Casually dressed people – tourists, he supposed – were clustered around maps, plotting their routes. Several hundred were standing about, varying degrees of impatience written on their faces.

Harry felt unnervingly claustrophobic. Heart rate accelerating, he moved over to a small unoccupied bench where he sat hunched over, eyes tightly shut. He wasn't used to dealing with so many people without the insurmountable barrier the Dursleys represented. Air traveled thickly through his lungs. He broke into a cold sweat. Surrounded by this amount of people with nothing to help distance himself from them, Harry felt light-headed and dizzy.

Hot tears sprung up in his eyes and his shoulders trembled. Strangers passed by the distressed boy without a care as they chattered away with loud, mocking voices. It was like he was invisible. That… he could deal with that, he realized. Harry forced himself to calm down, to think rationally.

It took much longer than he would have like but eventually he was settled enough to start looking for platform nine-and-three-quarters. As long as he kept his head down and didn't look at anyone too closely, the panic he had felt earlier was pushed to the back of his mind. Harry paused to wipe his sweaty palms on his worn trousers as he took a quick glance around. A little ways away, there was a small stand selling magazines and sandwiches.

Harry dug his hand into the front pocket of his schoolbag and fished out a handful of one pound coins. The coins had been taken from Uncle Vernon and Dudley's trouser pockets over the course the three weeks preceding the book incident. He did a quick count and figured he had enough for a sandwich and a bottle of water, at least.

Pushed his trolley closer to the stand and made sure that he could always keep it in view as he bought his lunch. He wasn't sure just how he would be traveling to Hogwarts or if food would be provided, but having extra never hurt. Harry picked out a ham, cheese and tomato sandwich along with a large bottled water. The cashier gave him a bland, almost curious stare but didn't bother asking any questions as he rang up the boy's purchases. A slow blink and yawned "Have a nice day" saw the boy off.

By now it was nearing quarter till eight, so Harry moved on. He paused now and then to check the signs before returning to weaving around clusters of people. Platform seven went by then eight, and finally he reached platforms nine and ten. Somewhere around here there should be nine-and-three-quarters or a sign pointing the way, but there wasn't. Instead, there were even more people standing about. Harry wanted to scream. How was he supposed to get to the platform? Had Hagrid forgot to tell him some secret code or trick he was meant to use?

He let out a shaky breath, frustration curling in his gut. Was this some stupid elitism thing, like that blond boy from Malkin's had said? A test to weed out the unworthy or whatever? Like "sorry, we thought you were it but we were wrong" only _worse_ because it had been a chance at freedom.

Harry had no idea what he was going to do now. He could ask the station attendants for help, but he wasn't sure they would know about Hogwarts and he didn't want to get in trouble. The measly ten pounds Harry had collected was gone; he only had wizard gold left. Hera was safe at least, likely at Hogwarts by now. But that didn't comfort him much.

For a long time, Harry just stood there breathing roughly and trying to ignore the building sting behind his eyes. The boy had been so excited, so happy but now… Lost in thought as he was, he didn't notice a family of three watching him grow increasingly despondent. He couldn't go back to the Dursleys; maybe he could find a small flat and live off his inheritance? Or maybe…

A thin hand appeared suddenly on his shoulder. Harry jump with a small yelp. Eyes wide, he turned to gape up at a tall grey eyed girl.

"Hello," she said with a smile. Her auburn hair was tucked into a black newsboy cap and a gold pin inscribed with a P was fastened to her shirt. Grey eyes flicked over to Hera's empty cage. "Are you bound for Hogwarts, too?"

"Yeah," was all Harry managed.

"My name's Alexandra Adams; it's nice to meet you."

"I – um, Harry Potter," he spat out then winched at how rude he'd sounded. "I mean…" The girl blinked slowly as if startled, but kept smiling. Harry was grateful for that.

"Where you waiting for someone," Alexandra asked.

"No, I just – that is… My aunt dropped me off; she's really busy, you know. But I forgot to ask her how to get to the platform," he trailed off, hoping desperately that she would believe him. Normal eleven-year-olds weren't left by themselves in busy stations, Harry knew, but the lie was safer than the truth. The girl's smile gained a weird edge but she didn't press for details.

"Well, how about I give you a hand with that?" Harry quickly agreed. He followed her over to two men who stood waiting by a large trunk. They were both taller than Alexandra but one looked to be only a few years older. "This is my father, Jeremiah, and my older brother, Miguel." Her brother's hair was odd, black with purple and pink mixed throughout, and his ears were covered in piercings. He noticed Harry staring and shrugged.

"Was a bet," he said, pointing to his head. Harry nodded even though he didn't understand which one the man meant.

Mr. Adams didn't say anything at all, but he did give Harry a kind smile which looked remarkably like his daughter's. The girl quickly took charge, issuing orders for Mr. Adams and Miguel to wheel the group of four's luggage through the gate. Miguel eased Harry's trolley away from him then headed toward a stone pillar in between platforms nine and ten, whining half-heartedly all the way. His father followed him with Alexandra's trunk.

"The barrier to nine-and-three-quarters is hidden in the pillar," Alexandra began. "In order to get there, we need to walk through the front side."

"What?" he said in a dull voice.

"Doesn't make much sense to me either; the Professor said that the one who thought it up was a bit of a prankster." Nonchalantly, she reached out to hold his hand. Harry gave their hands, and then her, a startled look. "Also, it's not really in a good location. The other side spits you out in the middle of everything, so you have to be careful not to get ran over. But we're early enough that it shouldn't be a problem."

He tried to ignore how solid the brick column they were walking toward looked and how much it would hurt when they ran into it. Instead he focused on the rise and fall of the older girl's voice as she explained the history of the Hogwarts Express and its two stations. She was just starting to say that they had refurbished the train in 1974 because of a duel between a group of Slytherins and Gryffindors when the two students stepped through the gateway. Instinctively, Harry closed his eyes.

When Harry opened them again, he had returned to the wizarding world.

Platform nine-and-three-quarters wasn't as overtly magical as Diagon Alley but there were definitely signs of it all around, including the floating one proclaiming welcome. Cats meandered importantly about while owls hooted at each other. Families were all over the area; Harry thought he saw the boy from Malkin's but quickly pushed the though from his mind. He continued looking about, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone using magic.

Harry's stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. Embarrassed, Harry ducked his head then tried to pretend it hadn't happened. The Adams family grinned at each other over his head.

"Breakfast does sound good, doesn't it?" said Mr. Adams absently. Harry narrowed his eyes at him, trying to tell if he was being mocked but the man was looking over at a small café tucked into the far corner of the platform. "But first, it might be best to put your things in a compartment."

Alexandra led the way followed by two now floating trunks. Harry resolved to learn that spell at the earliest convenience and made to follow her, but was quickly waylaid by Miguel, who nudged him in the direction of the café. The boy glanced between the two male Adams before sighing in defeat. The trio moved to the eatery and quickly claimed a table for four in view of the train.

"So what shall we get," mused Mr. Adams.

"I say we get Alex the strangest thing on the menu."

"No," Mr. Adams said blandly.

"Do they have oatmeal here," asked Harry quietly. For whatever reason, he was feeling rather shy now that Alexandra wasn't there. It was strange, but the girl felt safe. Not that her family wasn't, it was just that they had a quiet intensity that she lacked.

"A responsible kid. Didn't think those existed." Miguel grinned at him from across the table.

"Your sister likes oatmeal."

"After she's drowned it in sugar, maybe."

The two adults continued bantering, pausing only to place their orders at a waitress' arrival. Harry remained silent, jealous of the ease in which they talked. The tea had just arrived when Alexandra returned, smiling a strange smile that made Harry wonder what she was thinking about. They greeted her as she sat down beside him.

"Is something wrong?" said Harry.

"Hm? Oh, no; it's nothing to worry about." He thought about telling her that her smile still had that odd metallic edge, but decided not to. "So, I've put your trunk in the compartment I usually sit in. A few friends of mine were there and they'll keep anyone from messing with it." While she had talked, Alexandra had been adding sugar cubes to her tea. By the time she was done Harry didn't think it could be called tea anymore. The boy hurried to look away when she took a sip.

The rest of their meal went quietly and soon, they were standing near an entryway into the middle of the train. Harry shifted nervously in place, head down and locked in a staring contest with the concrete. He wanted to sneak away from the display of familial affection but at the same time wanted to bask in the warmth for as long as possible. It was weird and confusing, and Harry couldn't help but feel a little guilty. For what, he wasn't sure.

"Harry." He looked up to see Mr. Adams smiling kindly at him. "Have a good year."

The eleven-year-old boy blinked in surprise before breaking into a wide, happy smile.

"Okay. Thanks."

* * *

Author's Notes 2: Yes, there are OCs. No, I can't get rid of them. After the next two or so chapters, they _probably_ won't show up again. Not much happened in this one but I wanted a transition chapter between the Dursleys and Hogwarts.

Next chapter: "The Hatta"


	3. The Hatta

Author's Notes 1: So, I had a bit of trouble figuring out how I wanted Harry's talk with the Sorting Hat to go, which is why this chapter is so late. Also some of the dialogue, particularly Dumbledore's speech, is taken directly from the books. Laziness, yeah, but there's no reason for it to be different.

On another note, I was asked if there was going to be slash in this… Honestly, I hadn't thought about pairings _at all_, especially since I haven't even properly started first year. Um, I can't give a definite answer either way because well, romance doesn't have much to do with the plot. It is a possibility, but right now, het is just as likely.

**Paper Birds**

**Chapter Three: The Hatta**

Harry nervously followed Alexandra off the train. The girl and her friends had invited the first year to stay with them for the long train ride, and Harry had gratefully accepted. He hadn't wanted to try his luck at making friends on his own. Before, Dudley and his gang had always neatly nipped any possible friendships in the bud, so Harry didn't have a clue about how those started. It was much safer to tuck himself into a corner of the train-car's open layout and quietly read his books. The older students mostly left him alone, but a few of them made sure to gently coax him into a conversation every once in a while, often either about what he was reading or what he looked forward to. Thankfully, none of them had mentioned his 'celebrity status' – Harry was sure he'd never get used to having one.

The night sky was clear; the greenish-blue afterglow of the sunset rendered the nearby mountains in sharp silhouettes. A cold breeze had Harry pulling his outer robe closed to starve off a chill. Students clogged the platform, and Harry found himself roughly elbowed aside. Twisting around, he tried to locate Alexandra's black newsboy cap but had to leave off when a tall, mean faced boy nearly ran Harry over. He squirmed his way between two clusters of teenagers with red and gold ties and finally broke free of the thick crowd.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" Hagrid's voice boomed from a few feet away. Harry smiled and hurried over. The large man glanced down at his arrive then grinned when he realized who it was. "All right there, Harry?" he said.

"Yeah," Harry said.

"Good." Hagrid went back to collecting Harry's year mates. Once everyone had gathered, Hagrid lead the group down a slippery path, occasionally calling out a warning about a particularly slick area. Harry did his best not to trip and, for the most part, succeeded. It was only the quick reflexes of the black boy next to him that kept Harry from face-planting when he rounded a corner and caught his first glimpse of Hogwarts.

It was beautiful, with numerous windows that sparkled like tiny crystals and towers that stretched towards the sky like the tall points of a queen's crown. Banners of green, red, blue and yellow waved merrily from atop battlements, each depicting a crest that Harry supposed corresponded with each house. The grounds seemed to go on forever and a vast black lake separated them from the castle.

Hagrid beamed happily at them, before ushering them into small boats – "No more'n four." Harry ended up with the black boy from earlier as well as a small, reedy boy who stared at him with the intensity of a scientist conducting a dissection. It wouldn't be so bad if the boy would blink.

"You're being rude, Theo." The boy beside him stretched his leg to kick lazily at 'Theo's' ankles. "Ignore him," he told Harry, "he thinks if he tries hard enough, he'll become a telepath. Anyway, I'm Blaise Zabini and that's Theodore Nott."

"Harry Potter." He thought about holding out his hand, but decided that the angle would be too awkward. The two boys pulled back slightly in shock.

"Really? I thought you'd be taller," said the reedy boy.

"You're not any taller than I am!"

"Yeah," Blaise said with a grin. "You're both munchkins." Harry looked away as he crossed his arms, expression shifting into something that was definitely not a pout. One of the others snickered.

"Anyway, what house do you think you'll be in, Harry?" said Theodore.

"I don't know." He didn't want to admit that he didn't know what each house was known for, or if they were just cosmetic. The attitudes of Hagrid and the blond from Diagon Alley seemed to imply otherwise, though. Harry shrugged and was about to ask them the same question when Hagrid called for them to duck. The boat ride quickly came to an end after that.

The groundskeeper handed the group of first years over to a stern woman with dark hair and square glasses called Professor McGonagall. They were lead into a small room and given the firm order to wait. Harry shuffled awkwardly in place as he waited. There was a minor scare involving a few ghosts that quickly settled back into tense silence. However, a familiar voice broke the quiet.

"So, which one of you is Harry Potter?"

Harry cringed. It was the blond boy from Madam Malkin's. He couldn't stifle his urge to hide, so ignoring the bemused looks from Theodore and Blaise, he toke cover behind the much taller boy. Thankfully, neither of the other boys seemed inclined to aid the blond boy in his search.

He peeked around Blaise to see a redhead step up to start an argument with the blond. There was sneering and a number of insults, and Harry was nearly certain it would come to blows when Professor McGonagall returned. She gave the quarreling boys a sharp reprimand before telling them to line up and follow her. They hurried to do so, though Harry made sure to keep Blaise between him and the blond boy.

The next room was huge, with four long tables running its length and a fifth at the far end on a raised platform. Seated at this table was the staff, and at the center was an old man with the stereotypical long white bread. At the other tables were the rest of the students, and above them were four standards that matched the crests on the robes of the students at that table. Harry spotted Alexandra who gave him a relieved smile and a tiny wave from where she sat under the yellow and black banner. Hundreds of small groupings of candles hovered around the room, casting the room in a warm golden light. He looked up and barely held back his gasp of surprise. The ceiling looked exactly like the sky outside. He was so enchanted by this that he hardly noticed that he and his peers had stopped walking.

He jumped when someone began singing. Harry snapped his head towards the voice and found its owner to be a ragged old hat. He listened to its song closely, trying to decide which house fit him best. Gryffindor and Slytherin probably weren't it; he hated confrontations and didn't have any ambitions or plans for the future. The hat really only said that Ravenclaws liked knowing things. Back at the Dursleys, Harry had had to be careful not to outdo Dudley, so he didn't know how he felt about learning. Hufflepuff sounded a lot nicer than he thought it would, but he wasn't sure he would fit there either.

"When I call your name," Professor McGonagall said after the hat had fallen silent, "you will come up and place the sorting hat on your head. Abbott, Hannah!"

And so the sorting began. The pigtailed girl named Hannah was sorted into Hufflepuff and Bones, Susan followed her. Harry listened with half an ear as he tried to remember names and faces. The blond boy turned out to be Malfoy, Draco and he was sorted into Slytherin just as he had wanted. Theodore was called up after him, becoming a Slytherin as well. Four more students were sorted before Professor McGonagall paused briefly.

"Potter, Harry!" The loud murmurings that followed made Harry want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

"_Potter_, did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

_Was there any other?_ Harry wanted to snap as he reluctantly made his way to the sorting hat and its stool. He pretended that the people he saw craning their necks to look at him weren't there before the hat dropped over his eyes. He forced himself to breathe deeply.

"Hmm, how interesting," said a tired voice from just behind his ear. Startled, Harry was barely able to keep himself from violently ripping off the hat, shoulders tensing to the point of pain. "Now, now, there's no need for that." Harry didn't relax.

_Hello_, he thought, deciding it was prudent to be polite to the discomforting voice in his head. There was no telling what sort of damage it could do if he made it angry. _Are you the Sorting Hat?_

"Indeed I am." Harry shifted, laced his fingers together, and wondered how he should go about asking his question. "There is no reason to fret, child. The Founders weaved in a number of enchantments to protect the privacy of your peers and you when they created me. Your secrets are safe with me," the hat said in a sad tone. That was good; there wasn't much Harry wanted kept quiet but at least this way no one would think he was a troublemaker. The teachers in his last school had made it very clear that that was what they saw him as, even though Dudley had been the one responsible for nearly everything Harry was punished for.

"Let's get you sorted, shall we? A good mind, a nice dose of courage, and a thrust to prove yourself… Ah, but that's not an ambition to you, is it? So that leaves two options. And between those two, in light of particular things, it should be–

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Harry ignored the startled silence as he pulled the sorting hat off and handed it to Professor McGonagall. She had a strange disappointed twist to her mouth and he wondered if something had happened while he was being sorted. He brushed off the thought as he walked to his housemates who, by now, had broken into enthusiastic applause. He sat beside a curly-haired blond boy, smiling shyly, and clapped along with the others when Smith, Zacharias joined them. The sorting ended when Blaise became a Slytherin.

At the High Table, the long bearded old man rose with a warm smile and arms spread as though he wanted to give each of them a hug. Harry guessed that this must be Albus Dumbledore. The chatter died down, and the Headmaster launched into a very short speech that left the first year wondering if he should be worried. But when he turned to ask one of the others, the thought was chased out of his mind by the sudden arrival of a feast.

Roasts of various meats, large bowls of pasta, potatoes and other vegetables, and boats of different gravies and sauces dotted the length of the table, showcased stunningly on a black table-runner trimmed in thin lines of yellow. A large jug of bright orange juice, which smelled strangely like pumpkin pie, sat between him and the dark-eyed Zacharias Smith. It reminded him of the extravagant meals Aunt Petunia would make for Christmas and Easter. Hesitantly, Harry piled a few slices of turkey and a small spoonful of roasted potatoes and broccoli. He wasn't really hungry, but he thought it would look strange if he didn't eat. The food was delicious.

"I'm Justin," the curly-haired boy said suddenly. Justin didn't seem to be speaking to anyone in particular; instead, he kept switching his focus between the other first years. "My parents are muggles, so I've only known about being a wizard for a few months."

"I'm muggleborn, too," Hannah said, blushing when everyone turned to look at her.

"Ernie Macmillan, pureblood," said a smiling boy with sleepy looking eyes. The others introduced themselves and soon it was Harry's turn.

"Harry; I grew up with my aunt and her husband. I found out about magic about a month ago, so…"

"Wait, what do you mean?" Zacharias gave him a startled, almost angry look while the others looked confused. "You're Harry Potter, how could you not know?"

"Magic makes Aunt Petunia uncomfortable," he said with a tiny shrug. For Harry, that was all that needed saying though by the expressions on his year mates' faces, they didn't agree.

"How is that–"

"Well, don't worry," said Ernie in a loud voice. "We'll have you, Justin, and Hannah catch up in no time!" The three gave their thanks, and the conversation quickly turned to different things.

Dinner had just been cleared away when Professor Dumbledore once again rose to his feet.

"Ahem–," he began, "just a few more words now that we are fall fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well. I have been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

A few people laughed, but Harry found himself feeling very cold. This cold feeling did not fade during the school song or when the students were dismissed to their dorms. If someone had asked him later if anything had happened on his way to the Hufflepuff common room, Harry wouldn't have been able to answer.

"Alright," said Alexandra, who had turned out to be one of the fifth year prefects, "this is the entrance to the common room." She pointed to a large still-life painting of a field covered in wild heather in full bloom. There were also a wide variety of other flowering plants, with honey-yellow or rich cream colored petals. It was framed in warm, dark oak that had trailing vines of ivy carved into it. "We don't have a password, so don't worry about that. Instead, you need to press a hand to the frame and say your first and last name, and year." Her fellow prefect stepped up to demonstrate.

"Nick Rand, fifth year," said the prefect. His hair was black and long, quite possibly the longest Harry had ever seen on a boy. It went well passed Nick's shoulders and was pulled back into a low ponytail. He turned to the first years, saying, "This will only work for a member of House Hufflepuff; keep that in mind if you invite over a friend from another house." By now, the painting was hanging on a round door which had appeared out of the stone wall. Nick grabbed its handle and pulled it open, ushering in the younger students with a small smile.

The common room was warm and inviting. The floor was a dark cream carpet that looked very soft and the walls were colored a lemon chiffon. Four huge windows dominated two walls, though how there could be windows when they were underground confused Harry. Maybe they were enchanted? They were led to one of the long, curved sofas upholstered in saffron yellow suede that was placed under a window.

"First off, we'd like to congratulate and welcome you all into Hufflepuff," Alexandra said, smiling. "I understand that some of you might have expected or wanted to be in a different house, but I hope you come to enjoy being here."

"We don't have any fancy rules about how you should act outside of the common room like Slytherin does, and you're not required to be outgoing or extroverted every hour of the day like Gryffindor would prefer. Yeah, you need to follow the school rules and everything. But no one is going to force you into a pretty little mould or try to rewrite your personality." Nick paused to grin darkly. "And if anyone _does_ try, you should tell me about it and I'll set 'em straight."

Harry wondered about that. It sounded nice, and he really hoped it was true but he was the Boy-Who-Lived. He understood enough to know that the wizarding world had built a bunch of mythos around him. People were going to be angry when he inevitably failed to live up to their expectations. Already, Harry might have fallen short.

Across from him, Alexandra glanced at her watch and then nudged her fellow prefect. It was nearly ten-thirty and Professor Sprout still hadn't arrived. Nick shrugged before giving her a pointed look.

"Tomorrow morning," she began, "we'll walk you to the Great Hall and give you a short tour after breakfast. When you wake up, there'll be a slip of parchment on your desk with your class schedule. Also, there will be a copy of the schedules for the rest of the other years on the message board. These will stay there for the rest of the month. Um–"

"Sorry I'm late, dears."

"Professor!"

A small, plump woman had entered the room through a side-door Harry hadn't noticed. She was smiling warmly and didn't seem at all annoyed that they hadn't gone to bed yet. The professor seated herself in a dark yellow, overstuffed armchair that faced the sofa. As she looked around at them, her smile appeared to grow even brighter and warmer.

"Good evening, everyone," she said. "My name is Professor Pomona Sprout." Harry thought that she seemed less like a teacher and more like a very kind, beloved aunt greeting her favorite nieces and nephews. "Now, there are a few things I'd like to go over with you before everyone heads to bed…"

* * *

Author's Notes 2: I have a question for you. How interested would you be in seeing different PoVs? Should I just stick with Harry?


End file.
